


Still

by mangochi



Series: Red and Blue [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathtub Sex, Domestic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bathtub is close to overflowing, hot water sloshing dangerously at the edges with every nervous twitch Scar makes. So far, by his count, he’s made plenty.</p><p>“Hold still,” Marcoh murmurs, lips stirring against his shoulder, and Scar shivers again, harder this time. It’s not from being cold, that’s for certain. The air in the small bathroom is thick and humid, condensation beading on the tiled walls, the steam rising from the water so thick that it blurs Scar’s vision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still

The bathtub is close to overflowing, hot water sloshing dangerously at the edges with every nervous twitch Scar makes. So far, by his count, he’s made plenty.

“Hold still,” Marcoh murmurs, lips stirring against his shoulder, and Scar shivers again, harder this time. It’s not from being cold, that’s for certain. The air in the small bathroom is thick and humid, condensation beading on the tiled walls, the steam rising from the water so thick that it blurs Scar’s vision.

But Marcoh’s hands burn hotter than anything else, the fingers of one hand spread over Scar’s stomach, tracing absently over the muscles while the other hand draws a sponge up over his chest. The tub is really too small for the both of them, and Scar can feel every inch of Marcoh behind him, his breath cool on Scar’s damp skin, the faint tickle of Marcoh’s wet hair whenever the man sees fit to nuzzle against the back of Scar’s neck in a terrifyingly intimate way.

“You’re quiet,” Marcoh comments, and Scar grunts helplessly. What the hell’s he supposed to say at a time like this? Marcoh doesn’t seem to mind his reticence— Scar’s only loud when he’s pissed or coming his brains out, and it’s only in the past couple of weeks that the both of them discovered the latter.

Marcoh’s lips press against the back of Scar’s shoulder again, and he doesn’t know whether to lean away or to let himself be pulled closer. He stares down into the foggy water at where their legs tangle together comfortably, and he tells himself that the heat in his face is from the bath and nothing else.

“Quit that,” Scar finally rumbles after the third kiss, and Marcoh pauses, his hands clasped over Scar’s stomach and the abandoned sponge bobbing in the water.

“Hmm?”

“No, I—” _Don’t stop._ Scar cuts himself off, shifting again, and is suddenly grateful that Marcoh can’t see his expression. “I just…” Marcoh’s chin digs into his shoulder as he tries to peek into Scar’s face, and Scar looks away quickly, prickling with embarrassment.

 _Embarrassment._ God, he’s really lost it. A moment later, he clears his throat and moves Marcoh’s hands with one of his own, rubbing his fingertips over Marcoh’s knuckles gruffly. “Don’t kiss me.”

“You like to kiss,” Marcoh says, genuinely puzzled, and Scar lets out a strangled noise. He opens his mouth to protest, but it’s not something he can exactly deny. “Don’t you?”

“No, not…” Scar struggles mightily. “Don’t kiss me… like that.” He can practically hear the clicking of Marcoh’s thoughts as he tries to process Scar’s words, and he sighs, moving his hand to grasp Marcoh’s knee instead. There’s a faded scar there, one pale line to match the many on his own body, and he taps his thumb over it unconsciously.

“Ah,” Marcoh says then, like he’s come to some great realization. “You mean like this?” He leans forward, lips ghosting over the side of Scar’s neck, and Scar’s arm jerks reflexively, splashing a small wave over the side of the tub.

“Mar—”

“Careful,” Marcoh cautions, but Scar can hear the smile in his voice. He clutches at Marcoh’s leg, careful not to hold on as tightly as he wants, and tries not to think about the way Marcoh’s hands are edging deeper into the water.

“Told you to quit,” he hears himself say, his voice thick and rough, but it lacks the edge that it used to, and Marcoh only kisses him again for it. “ _Marcoh_.” Now he sounds _petulant_ , of all things, like some hardheaded kid at the candy store.  

Marcoh sighs, but he doesn’t argue, only slides his hands down farther and waits. “One more?”

Scar blinks the moisture from his eyelashes and tries to concentrate through the way Marcoh’s fingernails are scratching distractedly over his skin. “One?”

“One more,” Marcoh promises, his voice quiet and gentle like everything he does, everything he _is_. “Please?”

Damn the man, he knows Scar can never refuse that. He grunts and ducks his head, only to freeze when Marcoh’s mouth brushes over the back of his ear. “What are you—”

Marcoh hums, and it shakes all through Scar’s body. His tongue flicks out, hot and wet over the curve of his ear, and Scar’s breath hitches, his hands jumping to the edges of the tub to steady himself. The water laps at his chest uneasily, and Marcoh pulls him back against his chest, making soft soothing noises.

“That’s more than one,” Scar mutters, feeling oddly breathless and disheveled. He feels Marcoh’s teeth against his earlobe, too careful to hurt, but he feels a pang in his chest nevertheless.

“Sorry,” Marcoh says, utterly unrepentant, and his hand moves far down enough to brush against the base of Scar’s cock.

Scar’s fingers clench tight, his knuckles whitening on the sides of the tub, and his knees jerk wider apart despite himself, knocking Marcoh’s against the walls of the tub. Damn it all, he’s been half hard since before the first kiss, something he didn’t think it’d take Marcoh this long to take advantage of, but nervous anticipation goes a long way in throwing him off his stride. Marcoh’s got a wicked way about teasing once he gets started— something that Scar wasn’t expecting when this all started.

“You’re hard,” Marcoh says mildly, and Scar bites the inside of his cheek when his cock twitches in response to Marcoh’s deliberately light touches. Marcoh always touches him like Scar’s something to explore, some new territory to claim, his fingers curious and probing as he strokes Scar to full hardness, one hand petting at his heaving stomach as Scar struggles to keep still.

He can’t quite manage to keep his breathing regulated, his exhales bursting out in uneven pants that carry the hint of a moan when Marcoh starts mouthing at his neck again, licking the water droplets from his skin before sucking on the same spot. He’s starting to see stars, little bursts of white at the edges of his vision with every flick of Marcoh’s thumb over the head of his cock, the tugging in his gut growing stronger at an alarming pace.

“That’s it,” Marcoh murmurs, low and encouraging, and Scar shivers, his control wavering for a split second. Fuck, but he’s useless when he can’t see Marcoh’s face, when he can’t gauge the other man’s reactions and predict his next move.

“The bath will get dirty,” he manages to get out, his knee twitching sporadically until he glares at it and forces himself to stop.

“We’ll run another one.”

“That’s…” Scar says weakly, and loses his train of thought when he looks down and sees Marcoh’s hand in the soapy water, pale fingers wrapped around his straining cock. It’s obscene and fascinating and he’s instantly grateful that Marcoh can’t see what he’s doing to him.

“Scar.”

“…a waste of water…”

Marcoh muffles his surprised laugh against Scar’s shoulder and tightens his grip enough to make Scar stutter into silence. “I didn’t know you were so environmentally conscious.”

“Shut up,” Scar grumbles, his eyes flickering shut when Marcoh gives him a slow stroke from base to tip.  He can feel the slickness of his precome even through the water, Marcoh’s fingers rubbing over the head and smearing the fluids down his shaft with every stroke, hot and wet and slippery like the tongue tracing incessantly up and down his neck, Marcoh’s slow, even breathing tickling against his ear.

Scar doesn’t even know he’s about to come until Marcoh suddenly stops, and he exhales harshly, his throat dry and tight and his heart pounding as the rising feeling in his gut reluctantly fades away. “You—” he begins, indignant at being _played_ with, only to choke on his own words when Marcoh tightens his grip again.

“Just let me,” Marcoh coaxes him, and he lets go of Scar’s cock again. Scar’s eyes fly open and his hips jerk up before he can catch himself, slumping back against Marcoh with a frustrated grunt and glowering at the water.

“ _Marcoh_.” It isn’t a whine, but it flits dangerously close to neediness nevertheless. “Pl—” He stops, his throat clenching, and his heart fights to escape the confines of his chest.

“Say it.” Marcoh finally touches him, drawing a single finger up Scar’s cock, and Scar shakes his head hard once, a brutal jerk that sends water flying. “Tell me you want it.”

“God,” Scar starts, and groans when Marcoh pulls away again. He’s shaking all over, the water splashing onto the tile, and he couldn’t give a flying fuck about the tile. Not now, when Marcoh’s hot and wet and pressed against him and he’s so hard that he can barely see. His hand slips from the edge of the tub and catches Marcoh’s knee, squeezing desperately. “Marcoh—”

“You’re lovely like this,” Marcoh tells him then, the words quiet and secret and just for the two of them. Scar’s chest _hurts_ , and he isn’t sure if it’s from lack of air or the way his heart races at the sound of Marcoh’s voice.

Marcoh brings him to the edge again and again, each time just a little closer, enough for Scar to feel himself tipping over before yanking him back. It’s awful and cruel and terrifyingly good, and after the fourth time, Scar thinks he could punch a hole through the bathroom wall.

“Say it,” Marcoh prompts again, and this time, Scar can’t think clearly enough to hesitate.

“Please,” he gasps, hips twitching towards Marcoh’s hand. “Jesus Christ, Marcoh, let me _come_ alrea—”

Marcoh’s mouth latches back onto his shoulder, biting down as he grips Scar’s cock again, giving him a long, hard stroke, and that’s all it takes for Scar to come, choking on the shape of Marcoh’s name. It hurts, fuck, it hurts, but the pleasure outweighs it all and he wishes wildly that it’ll never end, that he could spend eternity just like this, floating on nothing but white emptiness and the warmth of Marcoh’s hands.

Marcoh works him through the aftershocks with the clinical patience of someone who knows the human body inside out and then some, until Scar’s breaths start hitching in half whimpers and his hips shift in abortive attempts to get away.

“Fuck,” he distantly hears Marcoh mumble, and something filthy and tireless inside him takes pride in reducing Marcoh to his level.

“Mm,” Scar grunts in reply, and he lets his head tip back against Marcoh’s shoulder, slouching farther down the tub. It’s distinctly uncomfortable now, his right leg wedged against the end of the tub and his left practically shoved up over the edge, but Marcoh wraps his arms around his chest and turns his head to lay a line of soft kisses down his cheek, and he decides then and there that he can deal with the cramps later.


End file.
